When Thackeray died in 1863 his eldest daughter, Anny, who was 26, was left not just with a famous name and a sum of money but with an established place in London literary life. Affectionate and...

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Ireland has less of a tradition of literary realism than England, though for an English critic to say so may require a degree of diplomacy. It may sound like saying that Ireland is deficient in...

Read more about Running out of Soil: Bram Stoker and Irish Protestant Gothic

Diary: Love and Theft

Mark Ford, 2 December 2004

One of the most eloquent denunciations of plagiarism is delivered by Tristram Shandy. ‘Shall we forever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring only out of one vessel...

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Two Poems

Bill Manhire, 2 December 2004

Across Brooklyn This is the street where they still make coffins: the little workshops, side by side. I pass them with my daughter on our walk to the river. Are we seeking the bridge itself, or...

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Whamming: a novel about work

Ian Sansom, 2 December 2004

Novelists are a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings, obviously. It’s a necessary part of the job, that languid repose; that successful weakening of the usual human determination to do something...

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At the Video Store: Saramago

Daniel Soar, 2 December 2004

All José Saramago’s novels tell a story. Each is predicated on a suggestive and compelling hypothesis: what would happen if the Iberian peninsula were to become detached from the...

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Hoodwinked by the flat-lining, inside out Silver lining of every absent cloud, A clear day halo, a vulcanised rout Of dust and eucalypt, diesels and loud Stereos hyping up an eager crowd:...

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Two Poems

Nick Laird, 18 November 2004

The Layered doubt Empty Laird was called that ‘cause his Christian name was Matthew and his middle one was Thomas. Towards the end he commented that by his-self he’d made a sixth of...

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Pods and Peds: Iain Sinclair

Caroline Maclean, 18 November 2004

It is best to read Iain Sinclair’s work out of the corner of your eye. The action takes place on the peripheries; it disintegrates if you concentrate too hard on the middle. Dining on...

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In April 2001, Harper’s ran a vast essay on the use and abuse of the English language in the United States. Entitled ‘Tense Present: Democracy, English and the Wars over Usage’,...

Read more about Don’t like it? You don’t have to play: David Foster Wallace

Sukhdev Sandhu loves a certain vision of London. He finds it realised in the 1987 film Sammy and Rosie Get Laid, scripted by Hanif Kureishi, especially the ‘extraordinary scene’ in...

Read more about Urban Messthetics: black and Asian writers in London

Watermonster Blues: Edwin Morgan

William Wootten, 18 November 2004

Poems of science and science fiction, history and politics, love poems, comic poems, social realist or surrealist poems, dialogues and monologues, newspaper poems, Beat poems, concrete poems,...

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Two Poems

John Ashbery, 4 November 2004

More Feedback The passionate are immobilised. The case-hardened undulate over walls of the library, in more or less expressive poses. The equinox again, not knowing whether to put the car in...

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Life at the Pastry Board: V.S. Pritchett

Stefan Collini, 4 November 2004

It was all done with a pastry board and a bulldog clip. Sheets of paper were clipped to the board, the board rested on the arms of his chair and the fountain-pen began to cover the pages with a...

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Three Poems

Robert Crawford, 4 November 2004

The Also Ran The hare wasn’t there. The hare was nowhere To be seen, a sheen Of kicked-up dust, the hare’s coat, Every hair of the flank of the hare so sleek, so chic, It was...

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We could, as a homage to Derrida, go deep with this story of an immigrant, a wealthy man, a publisher and ‘cultural tycoon’ (Quartet Books, Women’s Press, the Literary Review,...

Read more about Darling, are you mad? Ghost-writing for Naim Attallah

Two Poems

Durs Grünbein, translated by Michael Hofmann, 4 November 2004

In the Provinces 3 (Bohemia) The silence round a dead mole on the edge of a wheat field is deceptive. Under it is a rendezvous for beetles, armed and in black. Above it wheels a hawk with ruffled...

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Here, in six hundred double-column pages, we have what the editor describes as ‘the most comprehensive collection of contemporary reviews of T.S. Eliot’s work as it appeared’....

Read more about Why didn’t he commit suicide? Reviewing T.S. Eliot